A Record of Love and Loss

This series of photographs was taken during the final year of my father’s life, a time shaped by his long struggle with addiction. Each morning, I would visit him—bringing his medication, checking in, making sure he was okay. Some days we’d sit together for a while, drinking tea, talking, or simply sharing space in silence.

At some point, I began to photograph him on my phone. Not with any grand plan—just a quiet impulse to document what I was witnessing. I wanted to hold on to something. To the small details. The shifting expressions. The way the light fell in the room. The moments that felt ordinary but were slowly becoming precious. I needed a record—not only of what was happening, but of who he was in those moments, and who we were together.

These photographs were made with love and sadness. They show a father I miss deeply—a man who changed before my eyes as he lived, and as he slipped further away. They reflect the tension between care and helplessness, presence and absence, memory and forgetting. They are not always easy images, but they are honest.

This series is my attempt to remember, to grieve, and to hold on. It is a personal archive of tenderness and loss. A tribute to a complicated, deeply loved father—and to the quiet moments of connection that endured, even in the hardest of times.